


spit vitriol, not swallow

by dreamingofthirium



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, and the other is a mob hitman, and you need immunity from testifying...., u know - Freeform, when one of you is a dirty cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27892858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingofthirium/pseuds/dreamingofthirium
Summary: When Connor and Hank show up at an apartment assigned to a rogue RK900 model connected to a series of mob-related hits around Detroit, they don't expect Gavin Reed to answer the door.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	spit vitriol, not swallow

**Author's Note:**

> [The post that inspired this](https://dreamingofthirium.tumblr.com/post/636523191382278144) from phcking-detective on tumblr.
> 
> Unbeta'd, and any critique or corrections are appreciated!

Hank bangs on the door and looks around, the confusion in his eyes clearly visible.

"Connor, you sure this is the right place?"

"Yes, Hank. My records indicate the RK900's serial number is registered to this apartment number in Town Residences."

Hank grunts. "Pretty human place for a non-deviated android to be living."

Connor's LED blips yellow before cycling back to blue. "Better camouflage? Or this could be a false lead." He pauses. "I don't hear any footsteps in the residence, but my sensors tell me there is at least one human heat signature inside."

"Fuck. Hostage?"

"Difficult to tell out here; there does not seem to be any biological signs of distress." Connor's LED rapidly spins yellow. "There's certainly enough electrical wired into this apartment to support an android of the RK900's power draw potential."

Hank bangs on the door again, his other hand opening his holster. "Detroit Police, open up!"

"The human is coming."

Hanks looks disgusted. "We're having a talk later about your choice of words again."

"Detroit Police my fucking asshole, _I'm_ DPD you-" the door wrenches open and a gun points outward. Connor reaches out in a quarter of a blink to grab Hank's wrist before he can do more than wrench his gun halfway out of his holster.

"Gavin?" Hank asks incredulously.

Gavin's hair is dripping, his shirt sticking to him in wet patches and his face slightly raw around the jawline but clean of stubble. He slowly lowers his gun, eyes flicking between them, guarded. "What'd you expect, the fucking Queen of England? What're you fucks doing at my house, breaking down the goddamn door?"

Hank gapes at him, trying to tug his arm away from Connor. Connor's grip stays firmly on his wrist.

"I apologize, Detective Reed," Connor says. "You should know there is an error with your apartment number registration - it appears to be registered to an autonomous, highly experimental prototype military android."

Gavin's mouth tilts down into his Connor-specific sneer. "Oh yeah? Don't remember adopting one of those recently."

"The fact remains an undeviated RK900 #313 248 317-87 unit is registered to this apartment." Gavin's eyebrows shoot up, amusement coloring his face, and Connor lowers his voice. "Detective Reed, we may have disagreed in the past, but if you have been targeted by this-"

Gavin's laugh cut him off, an abrupt bark of disbelief. "You're both fucking idiots. Why're you sniffing around my place looking for some 'military android'?" His air quotes are completed without holstering his firearm - when Connor glances at Hank, he just looks resigned and shoves his own gun back into his holster.

"We have reason to believe this model is connected to series of high profile mob hits within Detroit, including against DPD officers," Connor states. "Again, if you've seen this model around-"

Gavin - to Connor and Hank's visible surprise - lets out a long, genuine-sounding laugh. He flicks the safety back on his handgun.

" 'Seen this model around,' fuckin' a," Gavin cackles. He turns back to face the interior of the apartment. "Hey, Nines, have you murdered anyone lately?"

"Not to my conscious awareness," a voice responds - a very familiar, and yet wholly different voice to Hank and Connor both. The grin that breaks across Gavin's face pulls at the scar tissue across the bridge of his nose as the voice comes closer. "Though if I am an undeviated model designed to kill, I would caution you against leaving your filthy clothes on the floor again before I'm forced to take-" 

Connor's eyes widen.

"-drastic action," the RK900 next to Gavin finishes. "Hello, RK800. Hello," his gaze briefly cuts across Hank, "Lieutenant Anderson." He inclines his head politely.

The RK900, while superficially similar to Connor, does not feel like Connor. His presence is simultaneously much larger and much quieter. His build is slightly broader, his plasteel skeleton a scant couple of inches taller - just enough that Hank has to incline his chin upward to meet his eyes. His gaze flicks between Connor and Hank, clear blue eyes holding none of the warmth of Connor's but all of the curiosity. His face is completely impassive, as though still in stasis while moving.

Gavin snorts, breaking the odd tension. "Listen, you got cops crawling up your ass, you can sort your own shit out." He steps around the RK900, leaving the door open as he saunters back into his apartment, setting his gun on the kitchen counter, and the RK's head and eyes follow his movement while holding the door.

"Odd, your sexual history suggests-"

Gavin spins on his heel and takes two steps to shove a finger against the RK900's chest. The android's face remains a blank slate, head tilting down in inquisitiveness at Gavin's posturing. "If you don't shut the _fuck_ up in front of my fucking coworkers, I'm gonna fuck your chest hole with your own-"

"HEY," Hank bellows. Connor startles and drops Hank's wrist. Gavin glares at both of them. The RK900, seemingly unfazed by the expulsion, simply looks up at Hank. "As interested as I am in hearing you get cut down to size by an android, can we not have this fucking conversation in the hall?"

"Of course, Lieutenant," RK900 says smoothly. "Please, come in."

As silently as he approached the door, he glides away from it again, side-eyeing a glaring Gavin as he moves towards the balcony doors. He comes to parade rest in front of the glass, resting as still as a statue.

"Sure, yeah, just trample all over the fucking apartment," Gavin grouses. "I'm gonna go finish drying off, don't go-" he gestures at Connor "-I don't know, licking shit or whatever the fuck you do."

"Your apartment is... uncharacteristically clean, Detective Reed," Connor says. "I don't know that I would have much to lick."

Gavin sneers at him. "The fuck you know about my character, needledick." He exits, yelling, "And don't drink my fucking beer, Anderson!"

"Jesus Christ," Hank mutters. "It's your show, Connor, go ahead."

Connor looks at the RK900, wary. Slowly, he steps next to him, mimicking his posture and staring straight ahead out of the balcony. His LED slowly spins yellow, and the RK900's spins lazily to match.

Hank sighs and glances around the room. Based on what he knows of Gavin, Connor was right - the place is spotless, which in of itself is strange. It's a living room with a counter bar demarcating the space between itself and the kitchen, in the open floorplan style of the 2000's when American families became allergic to walls. It's sparse, borderline minimalist barring a single antique cluttered bookshelf by the doorway through which Gavin left. Past the androids, the balcony doors take up the entire far wall, a round glass table with a large and seemingly thriving bonsai as a centerpiece positioned to look outside. Though he doesn't have Connor's ability to preconstruct, Hank can picture Gavin using the space, based on the scattered coasters and an abandoned tablet on the far side. The kitchen is neatly organized, glass jars of different types of coffee beneath the cupboards labelled with Gavin's messy scrawl. There's a faint trickling sound of running water, and Hank leans around the bar to see a black poofball of a cat curled up and drinking from a water fountain on the kitchen floor.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says quietly. The cat uncurls and - Jesus Christ, it's huge.

"Where'd Gavin get a monster like you, huh?" he says. The cat makes a soft 'mrrp' as if answering, and walks over to wind around his feet. It looks up at him, blinking wide yellow eyes, pupils dilating.

"Oh fuck," Hank says, barely stepping back in time to catch it as it launches itself into his chest, claws first. He hisses before pulling it off and sitting it on his shoulders. "There, Christ, at least there's cushion there."

The cat sniffs curiously at his head, inspecting him carefully before settling and kneading happily at his Carhartt jacket, starting up a rocky, rumbly purr. Hank huffs and wanders over to the only other evidence a human lives in the house, inspecting the bookshelf as the cat rebalances against his shoulders. Among the assorted goblin treasure hoard of rocks, dead plants, and empty sample-sized bottles of alcohol are actual books - _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ , _Ten Little Indians_ , a narrow hand-lettered spine displaying _The Color Out of Space_ in handwriting similar to CyberLife Sans.

"Oh, of course that little bitch turns against me. For fucking Hank, really?" Hank turns to see Gavin glaring at his cat perched across his shoulders. She lets out a dainty 'mrrp'.

"What can I say, I'm a pussy magnet," Hank says, turning back to the bookshelf. At the top is a photo, the only one in the living room - it's of someone's back, looking out over a frozen Lake Erie in ultra saturated color, turning the snow and ice all different shades of white-blue-grey and making the long black dress jacket hanging on the person in the photo look like a void.

Gavin clicks his tongue and snaps his fingers, pointing to his shoulder. Hank feels the fabric of his jacket tugged as the warmth leaves his shoulders, the cat launching herself to Gavin's.

Hank's eyebrows raise. "Damn, she's well-trained, I'll give you that."

Gavin snorts, walking around the bar to the kitchen as she balances on his shoulder before hopping down to the counter. "'Course she is, I raised her."

"Yeah? You birth her yourself? Get an epidural, all that?"

"Twelve whole hours of labor, she just didn't want to leave the womb," Gavin says, deadpan. Hank snorts despite himself, and catches the corner of Gavin's mouth twitching upward. 

"You want an espresso?" Gavin asks, seemingly before he catches himself being a passable imitation of a good host and scowls. He turns his back to Hank and grabs a glass jar of pre-ground coffee labelled "Madcap - Kenya" in Gavin's shaky handwriting.

"Nah, I'm good. I'd just shake for the rest of the day."

"Old-ass bitch," Gavin says, but without the usual heat. "Your boyfriend done talking to his brother yet or what? "

Hank's face pulls into a grimace. "He's not-" he stops. "Huh, I guess they kinda would be brothers, huh? Care to explain why you're hiding a prototype murderbot in your home?"

Gavin's shoulders hunch as he slots the portafilter into the machine.

"Not hiding anyone, it's his home too," Gavin mutters. 

Hank blinks. "What, like you're roommates? Seems fucking weird, you, the anti-android advocate, shacking up with the android most likely to kill you."

Gavin's slams shut the glass jar with more aggression than necessary and turns to sneer at him. "Have you considered it's none of your fucking business, Hank? You still live with an ex-deviant hunter you deny fucking, so can't be weirder than that."

Hank wants to have his hackles raise at the first half of Gavin's statement, but the second half derails him.

"Christ, you're fucking gross. He's like a weird teenager, I'd feel like-" Hank stops, retracing the conversation in his head. "Hang on, it's absolutely my fucking business-"

Behind them, Connor gasps like he needs to breathe. Hank spins around as Gavin's eyes widen.

Connor had staggered away from the RK900, clutching his hand over his thirium pump protectively, eyes wide and LED yellow-red-yellow on repeat. The RK900's LED cycles back to blue as he slowly turns his head to view him, never moving.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Hank says, hand resting on his gun.

"Nothing, Lieutenant," the RK900 says smoothly. "He simply refused to accept no for an answer, so I ejected him from our communications." He fully turns to face both of them, hands coming to a folded rest in front. "Lieutenant Anderson, RK800, please leave our home."

There was silence.

"My name," Connor says, voice static-y, "is _Connor_."

The RK900 tilts his head and observes Connor in silence for several heartbeats, pinning him with his stare. Hank's hand twitches over his open holster. "Lieutenant Anderson," he repeats, " _Connor_ ," he says, with a thin veneer of disgust as though it pains him. "Please leave our home. Now."

Hank startles as a clack sounds and a gust of cool air slides through the apartment. "Exit's right here," Gavin says flatly. "You heard him." Gavin's cat is back on his shoulder, as tense as her owner and staring at Hank.

Connor slowly stands upright, hands falling to his sides as he backs away from the RK900 to join Hank. "If we have further questions-" Connor says.

"It is unlikely I would be able or willing to provide you the answers you so desperately want me to give." At this, the RK900 smiles, tight and unpracticed. "You know where to find me, and Gavin as well."

"Come on, Connor," Hank mutters, grabbing his upper arm. "Let's get out of here."

Barely out of the threshold of the apartment, the RK900's manicured voice clips through the air behind them. "Oh, Connor?"

Holding on to his arm, Hank feels a minute tremor run through Connor.

"Don't ever call me anything other than my designation again."

Gavin slams the door on their backs, his grousing barely audible through the wall as his footfalls slip away. Hank wraps an arm around Connor's shoulder and guides him to the elevators.

"What the fuck happened in there, Con?" he whispers.

"He and Gavin are married."

Hank stops dead. Connor keeps walking out of reach of Hank's arm and calls the elevator.

"You're joking."

Connor shakes his head. "We'll talk in the car," he says quietly. His LED continues to spin - red, yellow, red, yellow.

***

Gavin puts the milk back in the fridge and picks up his latte in his travel mug, Lili trailing around his ankles before he gracelessly flops into the single chair at his table.

"So, you think he bought it?" he asks, popping open the mouthpiece to give it a chance to cool.

Nines raises an eyebrow, face incrementally more relaxed - it's not a lot, but in spending a lot of time in tense situations with Nines, Gavin's gotten used to his micro-expressions. "What is there to 'buy', Gavin? We have a marriage license. It's been on the books for seventy-three days. I have been the resident of this property for more than double that time."

Gavin smirks, slouching against his chair and crossing his legs in an open stance. "Yeah, but do you think he bought it?"

"You're being purposefully obtuse. He would have no reason to doubt it; I fed him memories of our wedding."

Nines unfolds his hands and adjusts each of his knuckles manually, a delicate dance between calibration and dislocation. Gavin's reminded of the time he watched from the iron catwalk of a warehouse as he "calibrated" a sergeant's shoulder for thinking he could refuse paying protections after fifteen years of mob-backed rank climbing at the DPD.

"I'd better have looked hot."

Nines' expression relaxes further. "You were resplendent in a white dress, befitting your status as an eternal vir-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, you tall cunt."

Nines' eyes are clear and piercing, staring intently into Gavin's own and holding his gaze as he finishes calibrations. "He has no reason whatsoever to question any part of this account, other than the implausibility of its very existence. They will be forced to move down other paths, and they will find dead ends at all of them."

Gavin laughs. "Fuckin' literally."

"Yes, Gavin, literally." Nines slides the door of the balcony open, stepping smoothly outside and staring down at the street below before returning. "They have just left the premises entirely."

Gavin lets his head drop over the back of the chair and expels a loud sigh. "First part's done, huh?"

"You realize we will have to remain co-habitated and legally married for an extended period of time, correct?" Nines steps back in and locks the balcony, interfacing with the apartment to reactivate all of the extended security threaded through the apartment he had installed at the beginning of their partnership.

Gavin looks at him incredulously. "Babe, I know you think I'm stupid, but give me like, a fraction of credit, alright? If I didn't understand how the law works, I wouldn't have fuckin' made it this far."

Without removing his gaze from his interfacing, Nines says, "Gavin, you may wish to move your latte."

Gavin's eyes widen and his hand closes around the thermos to balance it just as Lili barrels against it and his arm with her full body weight.

"Lili, what the _fuck_ is your problem!?" 

She scampers across the glass table and leaps, effortlessly scaling Nines and clinging off of his shoulder. Nines' skin deactivates nanoseconds before her claws make contact each time, allowing her to scratch against black plasteel without drawing superficial thirium.

"Oh, I see how it is, hide behind your nuclear warhead of a stepdad. That's definitely a fair fight." Gavin glares down at his still-steaming latte and curses under his breath at "stupid fuckin' insulating future bullshit" as he gets up to rummage around in the freezer.

"Truly, the most enjoyable part of the visit was you deceiving Hank into thinking she's well-trained," Nines remarks, carefully lifting the plush cat off his shoulder and onto the ground. She scurries off towards the bookshelf and scales it in the a single leap, watching Gavin from her perch with wide pupils.

Ice clatters into Gavin's thermos. "Really, because my favorite part was you being a snippy little bitch to Connor at the end there. What the hell did he say to you, huh?" He shuts the freezer and turns to find Nines standing next to him, re-activating the front door-specific security as well. "Jesus fucking Christ, I'm putting one of Lili's bell collars on your wrist so you make noise when you-"

"He called me Nines, which I did not appreciate because it indicated a degree of familiarity we do not have. I'm not interested in whatever false camaraderie he wishes to force upon me in order to extract the self-incriminating answers he wanted me to give." Nines' voice is clipped as he finishes the interface, turning towards Gavin. "It was beneficial to our cover to take affront at a nickname he had not been invited to use, while you are free to continue to use it."

Gavin cackles. "Holy shit, I can't wait to namedrop you at work now. He's gonna look like a kicked puppy." He reaches up to clap Nines on the shoulder as he moves around him out of the kitchen. "Looking forward to going to work, that's a new fuckin' feeling."

Nines moves only his head to track Gavin's path back through the living area and towards his bedroom, LED a calm, slow-moving blue.

"Gavin, don't forget we have a meeting at 2100 with the new recruits."

Gavin flips him off without looking. "I'll be there, haven't missed a meeting yet, have I?"

As he walks back into the bedroom to pick up his work duffel, Lili swipes at his head, starting up the small war between the two of them yet again. Nines tilts his head, watching, the lines of his face smooth and expression blank, but his LED blending green as it transitions from blue to yellow and back again.


End file.
